


The End of Everything We Know

by Pronunciation_Hermy_One



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, M/M, Sexual Content, War, canon character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-02
Updated: 2018-10-02
Packaged: 2019-07-23 16:01:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16162196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pronunciation_Hermy_One/pseuds/Pronunciation_Hermy_One
Summary: Dark days lead to darker nights, and so he finds solace in the one place no one will find him, drowning himself in memories and whiskey as he forges ahead into a future he never imagined, only trying to survive.





	The End of Everything We Know

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Sing-Me-A-Rare Vol.2. Much love to my Beta and my Alpha who shall remain nameless for the moment. You know I love you to pieces and beyond! 
> 
> Song Prompt: Hello, Alone! By Anberlin

He was cold, wet and dirty. The wind whipped in his hair, stinging his cheeks and bringing tears to his eyes. He swiped at his face; perhaps it wasn’t the cold, after all.

            “ _We’ll leave straight away. There’s a pub right on the coast. We’ll go there. We’ll have the whole summer together before I go back. If I go back.”_

_“Nonsense, you have to go back. Your N.E.W.Ts are important... and you’re brilliant. I’ll wait for you.”_

_“You are important.”_

_He blushed, but continued to stare at him balefully._

_“Fine. You’ll visit on weekends?”_

_“Every chance I’m not playing.”_

_“And I’ll join you when I’m done. The moment I’m done.”_

_“I’m counting on it. Now get in there and win. I’ll be waiting.”_

_He’d kissed him, quickly, playfully, lighting a fire in his belly that spread to his toes, before running off towards the pitch._

The memory of his departing laugh, rich and throaty, filled his ears and his vision blurred again as he remembered their last moment together. He blinked, blood trickling into his eye and breaking him from his reverie. He glanced down, lights faintly visible beneath the clouds. Shivering, he wondered if he’d yet gone far enough.

As he emerged from the cover of the cloud, he vaguely wondered if he should have stayed longer to have received medical attention. But, he didn’t want to celebrate with everyone. He wanted to be alone. He wanted to remember. He wanted to celebrate with _him_ at _their_ place, as he’d begun to think of it.          

**Is this where the Interstate ends?**

**In coastal towns like this**

**Waiting for my world to cave under**

His eyes adjusted through the fog and he saw the light over the entryway. Hopping to the ground, he stuffed his broom behind the bush and made his way to the door.

“Shit.”

It was locked. He knocked and glanced upwards. No response. He banged louder.

“We’re closed!” came an irritated voice from above.

He pounded his fist against the door once more, fighting the urge to empty the contents of his stomach into the hedge where his broom lay hidden.

“For fuck’s sake it’s 2am, we’re closed!” Oh, she was angry, alright.

“Maggi, it’s me,” he shouted hoarsely, his forehead pressed against the door. “Please,” he whispered, knowing his voice would not have carried so faintly.

Another moment passed and the door swung open, carrying him headfirst as he pitched forward onto the floor. Maggi jumped out of the way, barely avoiding his toppling form.

She reached down to help him stand up as he rolled to his knees. “Where the hell have you been? Months now and here you show up--” she trailed off, catching sight of his face in the shadows of light from the front porch.

“Jesus, Mary and… what the hell happened?”

He scowled, stumbling to his feet and traipsing toward the bar.

“Listen here, I’ve patched you up and taken your lies before: work accidents, automobile wreck—automobile, as if you didn’t even know what one bloody was—stairs, doors, sporting. But, you look as if you’ve just been through a war and you’re plastered in mud and your face is barely recognizable and… fuck me, is that blood?”

He stumbled again, exhaustion settling in.

“I need a drink.”

“You need a doctor.”

Maggi surveyed him slowly, taking in his appearance. There was a gash extending from his temple to his left eye, dotted in dried blood and still dripping slowly into his lashes. His other eye was purple, swollen shut and barely visible anyway beneath the dirt. Had she not known what color his hair was, she’d have never guessed. His clothing was torn and, ah yes, there it was, that stupid cloak he always wore was in tatters.

“Please, Maggi.”

She nodded stiffly and made her way behind the bar.

“The usual, Charlie?”

There was no response, and she watched him as he gazed, lost somewhere else entirely in thought.

“Charlie?”

She set the drink down in front of him, snapping her fingers in front of his face. “You ever going to tell me your real name?”

**We seem to invent ourselves**

**In places left unknown**

**If hope could only find me out**

He blinked, twice, and raised the glass in the air. “You need to join me. We’re celebrating.”

“Are you celebrating a monumental loss, by the looks of it?”

“No.” He shook his head somberly as she poured a glass for herself. “A win.”

“I’d hate to see the other guy,” she mumbled, raising her glass into the air.

“To victory,” he said, his eyes clear and shining as he stared at their glasses in the air. “To Harry. To Dumbledore. To Colin. To Fred. To Lavender,” he paused, swallowing hard as tears streamed down his cheeks, carving paths in the mud and blood as they trailed toward his chin.

Maggi stared at him, watching this man she’d known for three years now, sullen and somber, quiet and withdrawn, come to pieces in front of her. Who were these people? She was used to the strange words he’d used after a few drinks, muttering to himself more than anyone. “Muggle, quidditch... fire whiskey,” he’d ask for as she poured his drinks, wondering what the hell it was he was hoping she had on the shelf.

“To,” he gasped, his arm wavering as he held it higher in the air, careful none of the liquid spilt from the glass. “To the man I loved, taken before our story even began,” he choked, his voice breaking, and she raised her glass higher against his, holding his arm steady as he trembled. He swallowed, breathing deeply, his chest heaving as he stood to his feet, swaying. “To you, Cedric. Without you, none of us would be here.”

He swallowed his drink quickly, slamming the glass onto the bar loudly.

“To Cedric,” Maggi murmured, staring dumbfounded at the man before her.  So that was his secret, she pondered. Maggi knew people pretty well; she could read them, and it made her excellent at her job. But, she hadn’t seen that one coming. Not by far.

**Is this the end of everything we know?**

**This is the end of everything I am**

“Another?” The fire was gone from her voice as she refilled his glass and set the bottle down between them.

Maggi stared at her glass, trying not to stare at Charlie instead. She knew that wasn’t really his name. She’d asked his first time in three years ago, and it was the name he’d given her, so she used it. But when she called him over the noise of the patrons, or nudged him awake when he nodded off after a few too many, he never responded to it.

Now, she wondered, who were these people? Would she read about them in the paper the next morning? She doubted it. Half of the things Charlie said left her baffled, and there was never any mention by anyone else of anything he spoke of. She had originally suspected he was half mad… or maybe all mad. But, as they had spent more time together, she realized there was a deep sincerity belayed in his words. 

They made quick work of the bottle, and as the sun crept through the shuttered window, Maggi watched his eyes droop heavily.

“You need to rest, Charlie. A shower, at the least…”

He nodded, standing to his feet and dropping a handful of coins she’d never seen before onto the bar.

“Tonight’s on me,” she shook her head, scooping up the strange bits of metal and putting them back into the pocket of his stupid cloak.

“Thank you,” he mumbled, stumbling toward the front door.

Maggi paused. She had one hard and fast rule, and it kept her safe: No one upstairs. Ever. Maggi owned the bar herself. It wasn’t much, but it was hers, and it made a living. A hazard of being so far from town though, was that she was more or less alone. There was no protection and it would take a while for help to arrive if she needed it. Travelers stopped, making their way along the coast, but the nights were dead after sunset, except for her regulars, as the closest lodging was a dozen kilometers away.

“Come on upstairs, Charlie,” she mumbled, grabbing his arm and steering him back away from the door.

“No,” he protested, his gaze flickering around the room as it spun before him from the rapid about-face she had just maneuvered him through.

“Yes. You’re a wreck. Shower, sleep, go home.”

She guided him up the stairs, chucking his pack over her shoulder as they walked.

“Do you even have a home around here?” She pondered aloud. “It’s not much, just me, but the couch is dead comfy, and there’s a hot shower.”

She locked the front door behind them and steered him into the bathroom, turning on the shower water. “Towels are in there,” she pointed to a cabinet by the tub.

“This isn’t necessary,” she heard him whisper as she slipped out of the room, the door clicking softly behind her.

**Is anybody out there?**

**Hello, Hello**

**Broken hearts like promises are left for lesser knowns.**

“Fuck me,” Maggi sighed deeply, tossing the cushions from the sofa onto the floor and grabbing blankets from the closet. She remembered distinctly the first time Charlie had walked through the door of her bar. It was much like tonight, though without the blood and mud coating his body entirely. His eyes had been red rimmed and he stumbled through the door in a daze.

She started, realizing she had heard that name once before: Cedric. He has muttered it that night, over and over, alone in the corner as he nursed his drinks slowly. He was young then, well, even younger than he was now, barely 18 she’d have guessed, and built like an athlete, handsome enough, but not pretty. She’d guessed then that first night that he had his heart broken by a girl. But then, he’d spent every night in her pub the entire summer, quiet, staying to himself. He disappeared all day, and came back windswept and filthy, and always alone. She wondered where he worked, what he did, but he just vaguely said something about sports and went back to his drink. 

And then one day he was gone. She didn’t see him again until the following summer. He strolled in, hair tousled, but at least he looked like he’d bathed this time.

“Maggi,” he had nodded, sitting down at the bar as she poured and set the glass in front of him.

“Charlie,” she nodded, smiling. “Long time.”

“Work,” he shrugged, holding his glass in the air, staring at it momentarily in salud before downing it.

She had surveyed him, noticing that he had filled out and grown at least another 2 inches since last summer. 

“Staying for long?”

“Maybe,” he whispered into his drink, and so she had left him alone.

He returned every evening that month, and then disappeared, again.

It was _that night_ he had returned, winning her favor and trust. There was a storm off the coast and the place was packed all day. Everyone was seeking shelter, the snow had piled up, and Maggi was alone, struggling to survive the evening. She saw a flash from the corner of the room and realized he was sitting in his usual spot, waiting patiently.

“Charlie?” She had shouted over the bar, but he didn’t look up or respond.

Pouring his drink, she slid it down the bar to him, and smiled when he grabbed it. It was a week after Christmas, not his usual time. But, perhaps he was traveling for the holidays. It was nice of him to stop in, no matter the reason.

A hand had grabbed her arse as she swept through the crowd. She startled, dropping her tray and cursing loudly. “Fuck off,” she shouted at the group of young men laughing raucously behind her. Someone cheered to her right as she swept behind the bar to replenish the tray, apologizing profusely as she passed the freshly made drinks to the young couple in front of her.

She turned quickly and ran face first into Charlie’s chest. He was staring down at her. “Everything okay?”

“Couple of kids, nothing I can’t handle.” She rolled her eyes and handed him a tray. “You can go give this to the table over there though, since you’re here.” She turned and went back behind the bar.

Maggi chuckled, watching in the mirror as he stared at the tray for a moment before heading to deliver it to the table where she had previously dropped it.

The evening wore on and people trickled out as the snow let up and the roads were clear enough to see. Charlie remained in his corner until the bar had cleared out, paid his tab, put on his stupid cloak, and left.

As Maggi locked the door behind her, she had been tired, but pleased at the business pulled in that night: a banner evening if there ever was one.

Shutting off the lights, Maggi headed to the stairs, dropping her apron on the bar as she passed it. Still today, she had no idea exactly how it happened. One moment she was walking up the stairs and the next a hand was wrapped around her throat; the steps disappeared from beneath her.

Maggi tried to scream.

**Is anybody out there?**

 She kicked. She thrashed as the darkness overtook her. The lights were out downstairs, but she knew the space well. The bar was to her left and she reached desperately for a stool, hoping to trip her attacker. Her hands made no purchase and she was dragged further still toward the back corner of the room.

**Alone, Alone**

There was no one to hear her, she was alone. Maggi kicked hard and her attacker released her throat momentarily. She screamed; the sound piercing the darkness and her own ears, before her attacker’s hand covered her mouth tightly. She gnashed her teeth, biting as hard as she could and screamed again.

“The register: empty it, and I’ll leave you be.”

“Get off of me!” Maggi screamed. She kicked again, catching her attacker in the ankle. His leg rolled and she moved quickly across the floor, scrambling for the bar as she tried to regain her footing. Her hands grasped the edge of the bar top and she pulled, heaving herself upward.

And then he was on her again, her hands slipped and her chin connected with the bar, blood spilling from her mouth as she sank to the ground.

“I said it could be easy!” the man’s voice snarled as something hard collided with her cheek. Ah yes, a fist. It was a familiar sensation, not quite as distant a memory as she’d hoped.

Maggi choked, blood and spit pooling in her throat as she clawed at the man above her, her stomach pressed to the cold hard floor below. Blackness crept into the sides of her vision, stars exploding before her eyes as the room around her began to fade, his hand compressing her windpipe.

A sudden bang echoed through the room and her vision cleared as oxygen flooded her lungs once again. A loud crash split the air, and as Maggi rolled over she saw Charlie standing there, his fist clenched tightly around what looked like a stick, pointed at a man sprawled against the floor in the corner.

Charlie walked to her in a single stride, offering a hand down toward her.

She took it, standing unsteadily to her feet.

“Are you alright?”

“Not really.”

“Did he—“

She shook her head vehemently. “No. He wanted the register… thank you.”

Charlie  nodded and sat by the door, waiting with her until the authorities arrived. He left silently when they arrived, though she noticed immediately. The pub was suddenly colder.

**Because the coldest winters thrive.**

**“** Er, Maggi,” she heard him shouting from the bathroom and leapt to her feet.

“You alright?”

“Yes, it’s just… My clothes are, well they’re filthy…”

“Hold on.” She ran into the bedroom and dug through the trunk at the foot of the bed for a moment.

“These were my brother’s.” She handed him an old shirt and a pair of pyjama bottoms through the cracked door. “Sofa is all made up. Get some rest, Charlie.”

By the time he emerged from the bathroom, Maggi was in her own bed, the door closed tightly behind her.

When Maggi awoke the next morning, the living room was empty, the sheets folded neatly on the chair next to the sofa. She wondered when she would see him again.

 

            He landed in the clearing as usual, stowing his broom, and made his way toward the front door. He’d gone home briefly to shower and change, but couldn’t bear to stay there for long. The post had arrived by owl, meeting him as he arrived back at his flat. The war was over. They’d won. The names of every one who perished the night before glared up at him. Pictures of the wounded and dead lay before him and, there it was, a picture of him carrying a body up the castle steps. He closed it quickly before changing, threw a few items in his pack, and then left.

  **Depression is the unholy ghost in the coastal towns ahead.**

He circled the shoreline for a while, flying low over the water, lost in his thoughts.

_This is where they’d planned to go. They had planned an entire summer to explore this new thing between them. He hadn’t known where to go when Harry carried Cedric back onto the pitch. The world had sunk from beneath him as cries had echoed throughout the stadium._

_“Cedric is dead!” But it couldn’t be. They were leaving together in hours._

_“Diggory!” the screams assaulted his ears as he ran onto the field._

_But, it was true. There was no mistaking it as Dumbledore pulled Harry from Cedric’s body. He lay there, eyes wide and blank, unseeing as he stared lifelessly up at the sky._

_He knelt beside him, dropping to his knees as Cedric’s parents rushed forward, clutching his body to them. He wanted to reach out and touch him, to brush the hair from his face. He was beautiful, and he wanted to trace his lips just once more, to feel them pressed against his, the weight of him against his chest._

_He stayed there for hours, long after they had cleared the pitch. He hadn’t known where else to go, mounting his broom and kicking off from the ground. He hadn’t looked back, just flown for hours and hours until the coast had materialized beneath him, just as Cedric had described._

The door opened with a bang as he entered. Maggi glanced in his direction, spotting him through the crowd and smiling before returning to her work.

**Though I know a thousand names, I see my only friend.**

“Charlie, grab that ice, yeah?” He nodded, heading toward the bar, though not toward his normal seat.

“Pass me the tequila,” she shouted above the din. And so the evening progressed as they fell into a comfortable partnership, finding their groove as they worked together until closing.

He sat down, pouring himself a drink as she finished wiping the counter. “Thank you.”

“I’m the one who should be thanking you,” she chuckled, tossing the rag at him before pulling the bottle toward her and taking the seat next to him.

“My pleasure,” he spoke softly, staring at the drink in his hand.

She raised her glass, as he always did, “To Cedric?” She spoke softly and hesitantly, holding her arm aloft.

His eyes met hers briefly before looking upwards and raising his glass level in toast: “To Cedric. Always.”

**I’ve got the gun**

They lapsed into a relaxed silence, sipping and pouring alternatingly.

“We were friends in school,” Charlie murmured into his drink.

Maggi looked up, finding the fine line between interested and apathetic that allowed her patrons the freedom to share.

“Well, rivals, really. But, I respected the hell out of him.”

Maggi chuckled. “A respected rival turned lover. You’ve got yourself a Guardian best seller right there. Sports, then?”

He nodded. “We lost to them, one year. He had so much damned integrity, he offered a replay.”

“Why?”

“Har—our seek… one of my team was hurt.”

Maggi nodded. There were those absurd words again.

“I saw him again at the world cup, after school.”

_Football_ Maggi concluded, still racking her brain. She wasn’t precisely familiar with the sport, but it was on in the pub often enough, patrons screaming at the telly.

“We ran into one another at the world cup.” He chuckled. “Literally ran right into one another.” He was wiping the tears from his eyes as he laughed.

It was a pleasant sound, Maggi noted, not one she’d heard from him before. His laugh was rich, but not deep, light, but not airy. It filled the room with its quiet nonchalance. 

He poured himself another drink, shaking his head as he muttered something about a stitch and a victory crumb... of what, she was not sure. “We were camping, I was with my teammates and he was with his dad. The whole lot of us was there trying to figure out how to light the damned fire, the muggle way, you know, Maggi.”

She nodded, though she certainly didn’t know.

“Anyway, I thought maybe we just needed more firewood, and I was the newest on the team. So, I took off down the trail and went a distance into the woods to find some, and there he comes round the corner carrying a bucket of water, oh you muggles, and bam!”

He slammed his hand on the counter and she jumped. 

“We were both drenched after that; sopping wet!” He stopped laughing, staring somewhere over her shoulder as a single tear slipped down his cheek.

**All I need is ten cents for the bullet**

            _“Cedric!” He was spluttering, staring up into_ his _face._

_“Bollocks! I’m sorry, mate.” Cedric extended his hand, wiping the water from his face, his gaze rising until their eyes met. His hand slowly dropped back to his side, a blush creeping up his cheeks as realization swept over him. “Wood.”_

_“Well, that is what I was on my way to collect. Thanks for the bath,” he smiled hesitantly, but his joke was met with a cold and blank stare. Gone was the warmth and comfort he had long found in Cedric’s grey eyes. His stomach flip-flopped, that feeling of longing resurging anew.  He dropped his gaze, flickering from Cedric’s eyes, down to his chin, and coming to rest at his feet._

_Cedric cleared his throat and Oliver looked up to see the hand extended once more. “Oliver. I’m… I’m sorry, mate.”_

_“An accident,” Oliver mumbled, waving his hand dismissively. He stared at Cedric’s hand, the sounds of cheering fading into the background. He wanted to touch him, again, more than anything. He didn’t know if his heart could handle it._

_“Not about the water,” Cedric sighed, plopping down onto the ground next to him._

_“Is this about Harry and the snitch, again?”_

_Cedric chuckled then, shaking his head. “No, you daft prat.” He paused, brushing the hair from his eyes, “I’ve seen you about this week.”_

_“I’ve seen you, too.”_

_“I’m not going to bite, you know.”_

_“That’s why I avoided you.”_

_Cedric punched him in the shoulder playfully, before gasping and withdrawing contact immediately. It was too late._

_“I haven’t stopped thinking about you.”_

_“You left, not me.”_

_“I graduated, Cedric. I had to.”_

_“You told me it was over,” Cedric accused, his voice wavering._

_“I… I didn’t want you waiting around for me. I’m playing now, practice started. I knew I’d be busy and I… didn’t want you…”_

_“You didn’t_ want _me?”_

_“No!” Oliver spluttered. “I didn’t want you… just…”_

_“Pining?”_

_Oliver sighed. “You’d meet someone.”_

_“Oh, I would, would I?”_

_“It’s only been a month. You will.”_

_“I already have.”_

_Oliver looked up sharply. “You have?”_

_Cedric nodded, his fingers edging closer along the ground until their hands met._

_Oliver froze._

**I feel helpless**

_“I met him 6 year ago. We were friends. He made me laugh. I fell in love with him. I thought he had fallen in love with me... I trusted him.”_

_Oliver stared at their hands, trembling._

_“You’re shivering,” Cedric continued, his fingers tracing up and down the goose pimpled flesh of Oliver’s arm._

_Oliver looked up, his breath rapid and shallow. “I’m not cold.”_

_“You’re soaking. My fault.”_

_He nodded his head. “No. All mine.”_

_“I trusted you,” Cedric whispered, coming to his knees. He crawled forward until he was straddling Oliver’s thigh, his hand tracing up Oliver’s arm, over his shoulder, his fingers coming to rest tangled in his hair._

_Oliver groaned as Cedric roughly yanked his head backward until Oliver was staring directly into his eyes. He licked his lips, warring with himself and knowing he was losing the battle. “I--”_

_His words were lost entirely as Cedric’s lips came crashing down upon his own. He moaned, lips parting as his tongue sought entry. It felt like home, and the taste of Cedric overwhelmed him as memories of sensations came flooding back.  Cedric was irresistible to him. It had taken every ounce of willpower he had to leave him._

_“I was trying to be noble.” Oliver groaned as Cedric forced him backward onto the ground, grinding against him._

_Cedric chuckled against his mouth as he reached down, pulling Oliver’s arms above his head and pinning them to the ground. “Ever the noble Gryffindor,” he whispered, sending shivers down Oliver’s spine._

_Oliver growled in response, flipping them over, the full weight of his body crashing down upon Cedric. “You’d have preferred a Slytherin?”_

_“I prefer you. I_ want _you!” Cedric shouted, and Oliver’s restraint disappeared altogether as he stripped the soaking wet shirt over his head, tossing it to the ground beside them._

_Cedric’s hands were on him immediately, his nails digging into his back and shoulders before making their way downward, gripping Oliver’s arse through his trousers and pulling him closer._

_“Take it off,” Oliver moaned, pawing at the hem of Cedric’s shirt. He needed to see him. He needed to feel him, to taste him again._

_Cedric rose to his elbows, pulling the offending item of clothing off in a single movement, their mouths parting only long enough to remove it entirely._

_Oliver released him, crawling backward, his hands playing with the waistband of Cedric’s trousers. He unbuttoned them as Cedric lifted his hips, sliding the trousers down with one hand as he reached into Cedric’s pants with the other. Cedric thrust against him, his head sinking back against the cold, wet ground as he sighed contentedly._

_Oliver knew exactly what Cedric wanted by now. He could read his mind, his sounds, and the way he bucked against him. He knew he was torturing him the way Cedric’s breathing quickened as his fingers gripped and his thumb flicked in just the right way._

_Lowering his head, Oliver’s tongue traced a path from his collarbone down to the waist of his pants, the speed of his hand never slowing as he rained kisses down on Cedric’s hip._

_“You can’t leave me again, Oliver.” Cedric spoke suddenly, panting, his voice breaking, pleading._

_Oliver stopped, his eyes rising to meet Cedric’s in the dark. There they were, visible only by the light of the moon glimmering through the trees above them. The sounds of the celebrating World Cup champions were far away, emanating ever so faintly through the foliage, distant and unobtrusive._

_Cedric was beautiful, lying there, exposed and vulnerable, Oliver thought. He was perfect, and Oliver knew it. He’d never wanted to leave him, never wanted to be apart. It had been the most difficult month of his life since they parted. He had ignored Cedric’s owls, believing a clean break to be best. But how could this, losing this, losing him, be best?_

_‘Quidditch obsessed’ they had called Oliver. But, Cedric was the air Oliver breathed. Nothing and no one could have ever caused him a moment’s hesitation when he accepted the position with Puddlemere United… no one that was except Cedric. He’d have given it all up for him right then, but it wouldn’t have been fair to Cedric. He had wanted him to live, to love, to experience._

_“If it’s meant to be, we’ll find our way back to one another,” Oliver had told him. But hadn’t they now? Here, with a hundred thousand other wizards and witches in attendance, they had found one another._

_“I love you,” Oliver said suddenly, shaking his head vehemently._

_“Please,” Cedric whispered, his eyes wide in the moonlight. “Don’t leave me, again.”_

_“I promise,” Oliver swore, catching Cedric’s mouth firmly with his own, his hand resuming its pace. He wanted Cedric to believe this, convincing him with his words and body that he would, truly, never leave him again._

_“I was stupid,” Oliver gasped against his lips, reveling in Cedric’s undoing. His pace quickened and he could feel Cedric’s heart racing against his chest, his eyes closing tightly._

_“I’m yours, Cedric.” Oliver growled as Cedric’s head fell back and he roared, his pleasure echoing amongst the trees in the empty abandon of the cool night air._

_They clung to one another, the sound of Oliver’s name dying on the wind.  They heard it then: screaming all around them and thundering footsteps. The magic was gone._

**I feel helpless**

**Sleeping at best**

**Waiting for your return**

“I love him,” Oliver whispered, catching Maggi’s eye as she leaned over to squeeze his hand. “I loved him.”

“I know, Charlie.”

He shook his head, staring miserably into his glass.

“Oliver.”

Maggi and he looked up sharply at the newcomer in the doorway.

“Charlie!” Oliver jumped up, knocking his stool over as Maggi backed quickly behind the bar.

“You disappeared. I had a hell of a time convincing them you weren’t to be listed among the dead.”

“Shit.” Oliver shifted his weight from one foot to the other, bile rising in his throat. He looked up and saw Maggi staring uneasily back and forth between them.

“He’s a friend, Maggi. You’re safe.”

“Oliver, who is this?”

“Oliver?” Maggi cocked an eyebrow, looking from one man to another.

Oliver sighed heavily, sinking to the ground. He was so tired. Why wouldn’t they just leave him alone? He had lost everything.

“I’m Oliver,” he spoke softly, his head resting on his knees. “This,” he waved his arm toward the doorway without looking. “This is Charlie.”

“A pleasure,” Charlie nodded to Maggi, walking toward Oliver and dropping to the ground beside him.

“Are you hiding?”

“Something like that.”

“You’ve hidden here before,” Charlie murmured, watching as Maggi stood protectively by Oliver’s side.

**Are you ever coming home?**

“We’ve lost so many, Wood.”

Oliver sobbed, his knuckles slamming into the wooden ground beneath him as he raised his eyes to meet Charlie’s. “Do you think I don’t know that?” he roared, spittle spraying as he sprang to his knees.

“I have lost _everything._ I don’t _want_ to go back!”

“Fred is gone,” Charlie whispered.

“I know.”

“Remus—Professor Lupin.,”

“I know.”

“Bill was,” Charlie swallowed, “attacked by Greyback.”

“And he lives. Do you forget I was there with Fleur? I _know_ your losses, Charlie.”

**Is anybody out there?**

**“** Do you think so? Do you think you understand? My brother was out there with Harry for the past year, fighting this battle for all of us.”

Oliver stared blankly ahead.

**Hello! Hello!**

 “Do you really think you’ve cornered the market on grief? That your loss is so great the rest of us pale in comparison? That we don’t _need you?!”_

**Broken hearts like promises are left for less…**

“Voldemort is _gone,_ Oliver. And so are fifty more, and hundreds if you just keep counting! We need everyone left to rebuild. The community needs you, you selfish, prat!”

**Is anybody out there?**

Oliver continued to stare, unblinkingly. His face was wet, but he didn’t notice.

**Alone! Alone!**

“That’s enough,” Maggi spoke softly.

“Obviously not,” Charlie cried, pointing from himself to Oliver. “Where are you, damn it, Wood? The great leader at Hogwarts, focused and determined. You said I was your best seeker! I found you! Now, come home.”

**Cause the coldest winters thrive on broken homes.**

“Enough!” Maggi shouted now, staring at Oliver who was sitting, shaking on the ground. She knelt in front of him, arms wrapped protectively around him, willing her warmth and love into him. “Leave. You are not welcome here any longer.”

**Does anybody…**

**Do they ever listen?**

“Who _are_ you? What would you know?” Charlie shouted, tears staining his freckled cheeks. 

**Does anybody…**

**Do they care at all?**

“She is my friend,” Oliver spoke suddenly, but firmly, as he climbed to his feet. He offered Maggi a hand and helped her from the floor.

**Do you care at all?**

“Maggi has been my friend for three years now. _She_ has been there. _”_

“Because _you_ were here while the rest of us were _there!”_ Charlie shouted.

“I was there. When they called, I was there Charlie. And I always will be. But, I’m not going back. Not now.”

**Is this the end of everything we’ve known?**

Charlie stood, thunderstruck as he evaluated the broken man before him. “I was wrong,” he said flatly.

“That makes two of us,” Oliver shrugged. “You know where to find me and how. I can’t go back, not right now, Charlie. I don’t have anything left to give.”

**This is the end of everything I am.**

Oliver stood as Charlie walked back out the door. He watched as the other man paused and turned back over his shoulder. “We are here if you need us, Oliver.”

Oliver nodded, and then Charlie was gone. He stood there, staring at the empty doorway for what felt like an eternity. It wasn’t until Maggi spoke that he looked down and saw their hands were still tightly entwined.

“Born in a barn was he? Leaving the door open behind him,” she muttered as she strode forward, shutting and locking the door in one fell motion.  “So,” she cocked her head to the side, hands on her hip. “Sounds like you’re planning on staying?”

**From a lesser known I’m here**

“I--” Oliver stammered as she walked back toward him, hand outstretched.

“Hullo, Oliver. I’m Maggi,” she smiled, pumping his hand up and down. “Pleased to meet you.”

“I can’t answer all of your questions,” he whispered, feeling a shell of the man he once was.

“I’m not asking any,” she shrugged, grabbing his pack and heading toward the stairs.

“Come on, Oliver. It’s not much, just me, but the couch is dead comfy, and there’s a hot shower.”

Oliver followed her up the stairs without looking back.

**And there’s hope, there’s hope.**

 

 


End file.
